


Of birthday bashes and crossed out lists.

by chevythunder



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Birthday planning hooplas, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chevythunder/pseuds/chevythunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Open it”, Harry whines.</p><p>Nick opens it. The inside looks like the 1999 version of Windows Paint threw up on it. The headline reads “WE’RE TURNING FIFTY!” and is surrounded by flowers and wonky looking stars.<br/>Harry looks hesitantly happy, peering down at Nick.</p><p>“Do you like it?”</p><p>“I don’t really get it. Who’s fifty?”</p><p>“We are! I’m turning twenty and you’re going on thirty."</p><p>(or the one where Harry is determined to plan a joint birthday party and Nick is doing his best to keep his New Year resolution.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of birthday bashes and crossed out lists.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to gryles-cries for britpicking and to Mik for being my eternal cheerleader. My askbox is forever open on my tumblr, puppypowerforever.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own the people in this story, nor do I wish to imply that any of this actually has or will occur.  
> 

 

Harry is pouting, which really is quite unfair.

“It’s your own fault, you know.”

Harry pouts harder. It’s rather interesting to look at, his whole face distorted in order to push those lips as far from his cheeks as possible. It does not, however, solve the problem.

“My schedule is reasonable; it’s yours that’s cray-cray.” Nick tries to pat Harry’s leg but he moves away.

“No one says cray-cray.”

Nick looks at him with raised eyebrows. Harry is stubbornly looking at the floor, his knees now drawn up to his chest.

“It’s just that I missed your last birthday too.” Harry is still looking down but his voice is smaller now, a little sad. Nick sighs and scoots closer to him on the sofa.

“I know, but you sent a card.”

“I didn’t send a card.”

“You should have sent a card.”

Harry huffs and burrows into Nicks side. Nick turns on the TV and manages to distract Harry enough for him to drop the subject.

 

To be fair, he was disappointed last year when Harry didn’t show up. All his friends were there, Aimee going loose with paint on his face and Gellz trying to climb onto the roof of their tiny house. It was fun and it was stupid, just like he wanted. It’s just that sometimes he would look over to Henry and Dave and they weren’t even doing anything special but seeing them sitting next to each other by the pool, knees knocking together, or sharing a plate at the shabby restaurant down at the beach made Nick’s chest feel a little tight.

And he knows, okay, Nick _knows_ that he and Harry are not Henry and Dave, Nick too erratic and Harry too fascinated with boobs to ever get there, but still. He thinks that the tiny raincloud that had been luring over his head would turn cotton candy pink if H had showed. He got over it though, spend his days lounging in the sun and the nights too drunk to notice the lack of a warm popstar cuddled next to him in bed.

 

***

 

Harry’s off doing press for the next couple of days and Nick is trying to get Mackenzie of his back so he spends his afternoons at the gym. It usually ends up with him working out for fifteen minutes and gossiping with Miquita for forty-five. They can’t really blame him though, talking for a living and all that. Mackenzie’s mostly given up anyway, it’s fine.

On Friday when he gets home, there’s someone running around with Puppy in his tiny garden. Considering that a quite expensive checkered coat is flung across the armrest of his couch, Nick’s quite confident that he’ll get a handful of Styles as soon as he goes outside.  He trots into the kitchen instead, flicks the kettle on and waits impatiently for the water to boil. He and Finchy had an off day, fucking Franco cancelled _again_ and every joke he tried to make about it landed on the wrong side of bitter. To top it off, Jonathan called while he was driving home with a heads up about the bloody _Mail_ running a story about Nick getting too old for Breakfast.

He catches his reflection in the microwave, examines a wrinkle that’s threatening to permanently set up camp on his forehead. His hair is drooping, the quiff hanging sadly across his forehead. Maybe he should invest in one of those French conditioner things Daisy always goes on about. Maybe he should dye it pink again.

Incessant yapping and a waggling ball of dog scurrying around his feet alerts Nick that Puppy is glad he’s home and that she’s also, as always, determined to see him fall on his face. He bends down to pet her and she immediately flops down on her back, demanding belly rubs.

They’re good together now, after a bit of a shaky start. For someone who was wary of all men and aggressive towards other dogs, Puppy’s adjusted wonderfully to his messy life. Nick likes to think of them now as a team - the aging Radio DJ and his Jack Russell, taking over the world. He’s sure they could solve some crimes and pick up some babes together.

He’s just sat down next to Puppy when footsteps approach from the back door.

“Kettle’s boiled.”

Harry’s slightly panting; face red after being chased around the garden.

“I know.” Nick doesn’t stop petting Puppy who now looks slightly sedated, tongue hanging out and eyes closed. Nick feels a hand run through his hair, leans into it. Harry slides down onto the floor next to Nick. He keeps one hand in Nick’s hair and lets the other one rest on Puppy’s head, stroking between her ears.

Nick feels the tension slowly leaving his body and when Harry offers a night of bad telly and sweatpants, he’s not ashamed to have smacked an enthusiastic kiss on Harry’s cheek. Besides, the sight of the blush tinting the tip of Harry’s ear red was by far the highlight of Nick’s day. He instantly vows to make it appear as often as he can.

 

“OH!” Harry sits up straight on the couch, startling Nick to spill wine over his pillow.

“Fuck’s sake.” It’s cheap red wine too. Nick sends a loving thought to the pillow and all the fun they’ve had together and then knocks it of the couch. Sentimentality is not for 2014.

“I forgot to show you the thing. Nick.” He’s bouncing a bit with excitement. “Niiick. The thing!” Harry looks extraordinary pleased with himself. Nick immediately gets wary.

“What thing?”

Harry furrows his brows. “That thing we talked about! I figured it out ages ago, just forgot to tell you.”

Nick’s pretty sure his blank stare can rival Kate Moss’. He’s spent enough time around her to pick it up, anyway. It does not seem that Harry is getting the message that Nick is not getting the message though, because he jumps of the couch and runs out of the room.

He comes back clutching something behind his back, walking up to stand close enough that his shins touch Nick’s knees. He seems to be thinking something over, opens his mouth to talk but then snaps it shut again.

“Are you okay? Is this what a stroke looks like? Imagine the headlines, _Teenage popstar dies in Radio 1 DJ Nick Grimshaw’s house_. Would make the front cover, that.”

“Shut up. Just… here.” Harry sticks out his hand towards Nick, waving a piece of paper in his face. After a brief interlude of swatting and giggling, Nick grabs the paper.

It’s folded in the middle and the front is adorned with a picture Nick recognizes as one of his own. It’s taken the morning after a long night out; Nick in his glasses with his cheeks squashed against Harry’s beaming face. They sent it as reassurance to Aimee after her doubting their ability to function as human beings. There might have been tequila the night before, mixed with vodka, gin and a hint of tonic.

“Open it”, Harry whines.

Nick opens it. The inside looks like the 1999 version of Windows Paint threw up on it. The headline reads “ _WE’RE TURNING FIFTY!_ ” and is surrounded by flowers and wonky looking stars.

“I made it yesterday, on my phone. I didn’t have that much time and the interviewer got a little upset with me so I apologized and she said it was okay. I don’t think she was really angry though. I printed it out this morning.”

Nick’s learned that the best thing to do is to wait until Harry’s finished with whatever dwindling thought he’s trying to verbalize. He has enough people interrupting him already; Nick can spare a couple of minutes listening to Harry talk. He’s still confused though, as to what exactly it is he’s holding. Harry looks hesitantly happy, peering down at Nick.

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t really get it. Who’s fifty?”

“We are! I’m turning twenty and you’re going on thirty.” (Nick winces at that. Harry pats his head consolingly.) “And since I’m on tour in August, I thought we could have a party together. You know, cause you threw two for me last year and I… I couldn’t come to yours. We have the same friends and stuff, so.”

“Okay?”

Harry falters a bit. “We don’t have to. Just an idea but… I mean, if you’ve already made plans or whatever then we can forget it. ‘S stupid.”

He reaches for the card but Nick moves it out of his way. Harry shoves his hands in the pockets of his skin tight jeans instead, fidgeting slightly.

Nick looks down on the paper in his hand. In the lower right hand corner, it says “ _Please let us know if you can make it or not_ ”, neatly followed by both of their phone numbers. There's even directions to a venue.

“Did you really make this yesterday?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Harry bounces on his heels. He’s always been a terrible liar.

“How long have you been planning this?”

Harry’s feet must be terribly interesting, judging by the focused look they’re receiving right now. Harry folds his hands behind his back in that submissive pose Nick always desperately try to ignore.

“A couple of days.”

“Harry.”

“A couple of months.”

“ _Harry_.”

“I first thought we could do it when I turned eighteen but then you'd already made plans and I didn’t want to be rude.”

Harry’s voice has taken on an embarrassed tone, eyes downcast and hands twisted around each other. Nick’s brain fills up with images that shouldn’t be there, thoughts he made sure to erase when he realized that none of them was ever going to be anything more than that. They’re back now in full force but Nick can’t let them linger, he needs to put up a big sign and an electric fence around those treacherous passes. He also needs to say something to Harry whose cheeks are now tinted pink. He’s still not looking at Nick.

“It wouldn’t have made any sense to do it then. The year you turned 18 I was turning 28. That’s… that’s like…”

“Forty-six.” Now Harry’s looking up, superior smirk firmly in place. Nick kicks him.

“Hush. How the hell would that work? Hello, we’re turning middle-aged? Celebrate with us as we’re a year past forty-five? Not as fetching on a card.”

“It was gonna say eighteen and twenty-eight with the one and two stricken out, because our mental age is like-“

“Eight?” Nick grins.

“Yep.” Harry smiles back. He sits down on the couch next to Nick, folds his hands in his lap. They’re quiet for a moment, Nick rereading the card and Harry reading Nick.

A finger reaches out and pokes Nick in the cheek. He pretends to fall over, topples towards the armrest. Harry snickers and climbs on top of him, tickling his sides. They end up rolling down onto the floor, sandwiched in the small space between the table and the couch. Harry squirms around and Nick lets him. Experience has taught him that Harry usually manages to arrange their limbs in a comfortable manner, even though it takes a while. That’s okay though.

Nick always seems to have time to spare when Harry needs it.

 

***

 

“You made the 18 and 28 cards, didn’t you?”

“No.”

 

***

 

“Have we got any food?”

“It’s your flat.”

“Fine, have I got any food?

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely sure?”

“Yes.”

“Should we get take away?”

“Yes.”

“Did you make the 18 and 28 cards?”

“Yes.”

Harry freezes in the doorway, a blush starting on his neck and spreading fast. Nick sails by him into the kitchen, grinning the whole way.

 

***

 

The next week when Nick gets home after taking Puppy to the park, there’s a woman sitting by his kitchen table. Nick does not know this woman and by the look of it, Puppy doesn’t either.

(It’s happened before that Nick’s met someone for the first time only to find out that they’ve already been round his house with Collette or Pix and become pals with his dog. It’s quite disconcerting and wakes his possessive streak. Once he actually hissed at a guy who thought he could pick up Puppy and cuddle her without Nick’s permission. Nick ended up keeping Puppy in his lap for the entire lunch, giving the stink eye to a waiter who seemed to frown upon such behaviour. He never reacts like that when it comes to anything else, doesn’t care if people sleep in his bed or steal food from his plate. Okay, so he may or may not have been slightly standoffish to every girlfriend or casual partner Harry’s ever had, but that’s different. It’s about being protective, not possessive. Sometimes Nick actually wants to be the mentor that the papers occasionally make him out to be and if those urges happen to coincide with the times Harry’s introduced him to someone, well. Nothing Nick can do about that, is there?)

They’re in some form of standoff, Nick and Puppy against the thirty-something woman sitting with a cup of tea in his house.

“I’m the… I’m here with Harry Styles?” She’s got a very melodic voice, one that instantly calms you down.

“Oh.” So this is the next introduction waiting to happen. She doesn’t look like most girls Harry’s brought over or texted pictures of.  Not that it matters, it’s just that she looks a bit more put together, more upper-class than the other women. More Chanel, less Camden.

Her hands are neatly folded on the table and she looks slightly apologetic about being sat there without him knowing about it. Nick can’t decide if he’s going to dislike her or not, it’s quite confusing. She’s his age, so he can’t play the ‘older and wiser’ card to Harry when giving him future relationship advice, this woman clearly has all the knowledge Nick’s got. Maybe this is the woman who will forever take Nick’s place as head cuddling partner because she can assist with both back rubbing and orgasms. (It’s not that Nick can’t do the latter, but Harry’s never given any indication that he'd like to benefit from that particular skill of Nick’s.) After a brief and horrifying image of this woman in a white dress walking down a rose petal covered aisle, himself sat on an uncomfortable church bench in an itchy tux looking up at a beaming pop star, Nick shakes himself out of it and holds out a hand towards her. She grasps it firmly.

“Has he told you anything about the plans?”

Nick bends down to release Puppy from her lead and tries to arrange his face into something casual. She’s obviously not talking about a wedding, Harry’s impulsive but he wouldn’t do that without at least telling Nick beforehand. At least, Nick hopes he wouldn’t.

“Plans?”

“Yes, it’s a while still, but it’s best to start in time with these things.”

Nick cannot feel his toes. His feet just end in thin air and… okay, can’t feel his feet either. Both of his legs are gone and where the hell did his arms go? All that’s left at the moment is a very heavy heart and a deafening hurricane beneath his temple.

Suddenly there’s a hand on his back and his body instantly reconnects with his brain.

“Good, you’re home. Remember I said Cornelia was coming by today?” Harry’s wearing his polite smile, the one he’s got on until he’s sure that whoever he’s interacting with no longer believes in the rumours and speculations surrounding him.

“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself properly earlier, I’m Cornelia Adelsmith from Red Raspberry.”

“Nick Grimshaw, nice to meet you.” He has no idea what’s going on. Harry seems to pick up on it, leans up to whisper in his ear.

“She’s the party planner.”

Nick gives him a puzzled look and Harry’s face turns rather sheepish.

“Oh. Did I not tell you? I booked a meeting today so we could start planning the fifty-year bash.”

“Bash?” Nick can’t help but grin at him.

“Shut up.” Harry elbows him and then promptly drags Nick to the table, shoving him down on a chair. He kisses Puppy between the ears and lifts her up on a chair as well. “She’s as big part of this as anyone, aren’t you Pups? Yes you are.”

Cornelia looks reluctantly charmed and Harry’s smile looks a bit more relaxed. Nick rolls his eyes and settles in. This’ll be a while.

 

The planning goes fine, Cornelia so obviously used to fancy events that she doesn’t bat an eye at Harry’s celeb-packed guest list. Nick has some objections though.

“You can’t have Kate on your list.”

“Why not?” Harry tries to pout his way out of it but Nick knows him too well to be fooled into submission.

“She’s my friend!”

“She’s my friend too.”

“She was mine first.” Nick pokes Harry in the chest. Harry catches his finger, holds on. He sighs and turns back to Cornelia.

“Fine. Put Kate on Nick’s list, or the list he would’ve had if he’d been the least bit prepared.”

“Maybe you should have told me about the bloody meeting in the first place,” Nick mutters. Harry squeezes his finger.

“You could just keep all the friends on a shared list and put the families on separate ones.”

Harry smirks. “That won’t work though, because Nick’s mum likes me better.”

“Did I ever tell you about that time Anne wanted to adopt me?”

It truly is a testament to Cornelia’s professionalism that she ignores the slap-fight that breaks out and instead spends the brief pause quietly nursing her cup of tea.

 

They end up piling every potential guest on the same list, deciding that there’s no point in dividing up people who are prominent in both of their lives. It kind of hits Nick when they’re going through and finalizing the list, sprawled on Nick’s couch after Cornelia’s gone, that almost every person in his phonebook has met Harry at one point. Nick’s no stranger to bringing a friend along to parties where they don’t know anyone and he knows everyone, Aimee and Collette being prime examples, but no one else has so successfully crawled into every group like Harry has. People who’ve met him once still remember it and ask Nick for updates on how Harry’s doing and if he’s gotten more tattoos. It’s never about the band or an ongoing tour, always about Harry.

Nick can’t remember how many laddy lads who’ve side-eyed the beanie wearing teenager next to them at the bar who, at the end of the night, have ended up asking Harry for a picture or given him a pat on the back telling him he’s alright. Even those who hate Nick on principle, either for stealing Moyles’ job or for being too loud, too non-straight, too confident in himself, can be turned into mates with Harry’s assistance. Harry seems to be around constantly, and the thing is that it doesn’t even bother Nick. With anyone else it probably would, but hanging out with Harry is one of the easiest things about Nick’s life, so him tagging along everywhere has never been a problem.

One thing Nick’s never really thought about is Harry’s friends from before the X-factor. He knows Jonny, Ellis and the guys from the old band but other than that Nick can’t really recall anyone being introduced to him. He turns to look at Harry lying on the other end of the sofa. He smiles at Nick, sleepy and soft.

“Did you put everyone on the list? There’s no one else you want to invite?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Alright, then. I just thought that maybe you want to get some people from Holmes down?”

“Jonny and Ellis are coming.” Harry’s voice has a streak of defensiveness about it now and Nick decides not to push it.

“Jonny’s well fit.” The eyebrow wiggle may not be completely necessary, but he feels it adds a flare to the statement.

Harry groans and kicks out a foot towards Nick’s face. It ends up on his collarbone and Harry leaves it there. Nick gives it a little pat.

“If you take my friend into some toilet and grope him, I’ll punch you in the face.” Harry’s currently doing his threatening eyebrows look. It involves a lot of frowning and contorting of the face, not a lot of actual scaring.

“Go ahead, butterfly boy. Give it a go, come on.”

Harry slaps the air a couple of times, making ridiculous noises. Nick whoops half-heartedly. Harry crawls over to lie on top of him, chin resting on Nick’s chest.

“Please don’t shag my friend.” His eyebrows are serious now.

Nick makes a big deal out of sighing, giving his best thinking face and then nodding. “Fine. You still owe me for Flacky though.”

“I knew her before I knew you, she introduced us!”

“Exactly! She was my friend first.”

Harry blows a wet raspberry through Nick’s shirt. Everyone who’s ever said that Harry Styles is mature for his age should be around at times like this.

 

They set the date to March 15th, checking with their families if they can make it down to London and, after confirming, send out the invitations. For all the work Cornelia’s been assigned, this was the one thing she was not allowed to get involved in. The invites are still adorned with the same photo, the same paint-created chaos inside. Harry had insisted that it’d be a great inside joke with everyone and no matter how many times Nick tried to explain that literally no one would understand it outside of the two of them, he couldn’t persuade Harry to remake the cards. “So what if no one gets it, we still think it’s funny, right?” and, well, Nick just can’t say no to that.

 

***

 

“So I got this card.”

Nick is about to unleash Puppy onto an unsuspecting park and doesn’t need Aimee’s drawling in his ear. That doesn’t stop her though. “It’s a very peculiar card.” He’s currently balancing the phone between his shoulder and cheek. It’s not a good look.

“Mhm.” Nick gives Puppy one last pat, tries to telepathically tell her to be good. Her licking his hand is confirmation enough that it’s never going to happen.

“There’s a photo on this card which I remember you telling me should never leave my phone.”

Nick sighs. “I know what the bloody card looks like.”

“Oh good. I was afraid H just made it without you knowing. Did you also know you’re married?”

Puppy has set her sights on a picnicking couple near a big oak. Nick jogs after her, waves his arms around to alert the nice people that a terror disguised as a Jack Russell is coming their way. When he’s about five meters away, Puppy’s already won them over and is now receiving chicken from a buff guy while his girlfriend coos over them.

“Shut up Aimee.”

“You’re doing the shared card, there’s even driving directions to the venue on it. You’re not just a married couple; you’re an _old_ married couple. Lost the spark, have you?”

“It’s a party.” Nick has started to walk down to the pond in the middle of the park, knowing that sooner or later this is where his dog will end up.

“You’re turning fifty, it’s a big thing. Says so right on the card.” He can hear her smirk all the way from east London.

“Enough about the fucking card”, Nick growls.

“Touchy.”

Puppy is approaching, her tail going absolutely mad wiggling its way towards the water. She spots Nick and screeches into a halt, barking at him while jumping up and down on the spot.

He sighs and nods at her. She immediately throws herself into the pond. He supposes it’s a good thing that she at least waits for permission now, but in reality there is no way he could stop her once she’s made up her mind. She’d probably stay in the same spot for days until he’d cave and allow her to jump in. He’s tried carrying her away but she just ended up squirming in his arms until she could escape and go back to barking at that bloody fake lake.

“Did you actually have something to say or did you just call to be a menace?”

“I’m just following orders, darling. It says RSVP. On the card I mean.” She’s doing that thing where she acts more American than she really is, drawing out the vowels and putting on a fake Joan Rivers accent.

“Am I allowed to confirm that Ian’s coming as well or does he have to call himself?” Now her voice is downright gleeful. Nick hates her a little.

He grits her teeth. “It’s fine, I got it.”

“Wonderful, love. Can’t wait for the big day!” She hangs up and Nick is left with a wet dog trying to eat his shoes, surrounded by happy couples in a park. North London really isn’t all it’s made up to be.

 

***

 

When the week is over, almost everyone has called to confirm their attendance. Harry keeps sending Nick snapchat selfies when he’s gotten yet another phone call, the level of excitement on his face depending on how much love that special guest evokes. When Alexa gets in touch Harold’s smile is almost too big to fit on the screen. Nick grumbles a bit about it later when Collette’s over, how Alexa should have called _him_ , being long-time pals with a background as a presenting duo fierce enough to rival _This morning_. Collette just clucks at him.

Despite his whining, Nick does enjoy his friends mingling and this particular mix is one he’s quite fond of. They have a good relationship, Harry and Alexa, had so right from the start. Her being in the spotlight from a very early age, a mainstream model with an big personality, meant that when they first met she was the one who could relate the most to Harry’s everyday life. At the time he was a scrawny seventeen-year-old with too much money and too little time. She took him under her indie wings and taught him a few things about having relationships in the limelight, how to keep yourself from getting too lost in the swirling world of free booze and expensive clothes, how to perfect a paparazzi face. She also taught him a few dirty tricks to get his way when arguing with Nick, but Nick’s less thankful for that.

 

***

 

There’s a stack of cardboard boxes in his hallway when Nick wakes up on Thursday. There’s also an international pop superstar on his sofa, wearing Nick’s robe and seemingly nothing else.

“Are you not wearing underwear? I don’t fancy sending it to the drycleaner’s just cause you can’t keep your pants on.”

Harry turns towards him, wiggling his eyebrows. “You’ll never know.” He turns back to whatever it is he’s doing, and Nick goes back into the bedroom in hunt for a shirt.

Nick lets Puppy out, stays in the doorway to watch her rediscover the garden. It’s been about ten hours since she was there last but it seems like she’s checking up on everything, making sure the tree and flowers haven’t forgotten her. She yaps at the fence for a while, takes a few laps around the barbecue that’s _still_ out there before getting down to business. Usually she stays out for a while longer but it’s a bit damp and she really doesn’t like getting her paws wet.

A chin positions itself on Nick’s shoulder, a pair of hands on his hips.

“There are balloons in the boxes. You could get ones with photos so I ordered a bunch with our faces on.”

“Okay.” Harry’s too warm and Nick is too lulled into domestic perfection to be annoyed with this perfect source of mockery for all his friends to enjoy. He’s had his face on worse things than balloons.

“Oh, and your mum sent over some pictures of you as a kid and I photoshopped them together with my ones. We look good together.” At this Nick feels like a protest is fully in order but then those hands slide round his waist to clutch him tighter and what does he care about baby pictures anyway.  

 

***

 

“We need gift bags.” Harry looks almost manic, standing outside Radio 1 with his hair flying about in the wind. It said in the papers that a storm is on the way in, predicted to be worse than all the strong winds of 2013 put together. Harry’s wearing no coat and glitter boots.

“Did you just wake up?”

“I don’t know why we didn’t think about this before, what are people going to think? I’m not some cheap snob, I’m not, you know, Scrooge.”

“No, darling, you’re not.” Nick coaxes Harry to start walking down the street towards Nick’s car and the extra jumper kept in the backseat for occasions such as these.

Harry grabs Nick’s arm and halts him. “We have to fix it now.” He looks exhausted but determined. Nick desperately needs a nap but there’s no stopping Harry once he’s entered this strange obsessive headspace. The last time it happened Harry ended up buying a house because Robin had said it’s a good investment and “I’m not some leach living off of other people, Grim, I’m not, I’m going to get my own house and then I won’t be a bother to anyone.” It took about a week of half-hearted attempts at decorating and buying furniture before Harry decided to move the kitchen and therefore made it impossible to live in his new fancy house. Nick has no doubts this day will end up with anything less than perfume and puppies for every single person walking through the venue doors come March.

Okay, so maybe he needs to calm Harry down a bit.

“We’ll take the car, alright? Much faster than having to rely on the old human feet. Better to use the horses' packed in under that hood.”

Harry blinks. “Horses have hooves.”

Nick nods solemnly. “Yes, they do. Do you like hooves Harry?” He slides a hand down Harry’s back until it finds its spot, just where the back folds in a little, small enough to be covered completely by Nick’s palm. He can feel Harry relax a tiny bit and keeps on talking nonsense until they reach the car.

Nick opens the door and gently pushes Harry into the front seat. He reaches over and grabs the soft grey sweater from the back and puts it in Harry’s lap.

“Put it on, love, there we go.” He gently shuts the door and walks around the car to take his place behind the wheel. “Are you warm?” Harry nods and burrows into the seat.

“We need bags and small bottles of champagne and I thought maybe a plush animal with one of those t-shirts saying ‘thank you for coming’ and also some of the chocolate they sell in that shop we like and then we need to make the bags look nice so some ribbon as well and… why aren’t you driving yet?”

Nick knows this is a dirty trick and he feels slightly ashamed for using it, but ultimately it’s the best for everyone involved. “I’m a bit tired right now, Hazza. I don’t feel like shopping. You could have called first.” He can see the guilt building up in Harry’s eyes and a part of him wants to take it back, drive them all around town just to get rid of it but the damage is already done.

“Oh. Sorry. I’m being rude, you’ve just done your show and you don’t… I mean, I can do this by myself, you shouldn’t have to come just cause I can’t plan things for shit and-” Nick interrupts him with a hand over his mouth.

“I’ll come with you, stupid. Just not today, okay?”

Harry reaches up to drag down Nick’s hand, plays with his fingers. Nods. “Okay.”

 

He stays restless for the remainder of the night but Nick lets him be, flitting around the kitchen, reorganizing the wardrobe, playing with Puppy until she falls asleep sprawled out under the table. Harry crawls up on the couch and makes himself comfortable against Nick. “Maybe we can go tomorrow.”

Nick strokes his back until Harry’s on the verge of purring, slack jawed and relaxed. “Maybe.”

 

In the morning, Nick calls Cornelia to add gift bags to the ever-growing list of things for the party. Harry cooks breakfast and hums cheerily to the sound of his own voice on the radio. If there ever needs to be a how-to guide for Harry Styles, Nick’s pretty sure he could write it.

 

***

 

The 1st of February comes and goes without any celebrations. The press is going wild with stories about the lothario being abandoned by his girls and his band on the big day, the next round of press for One Direction are filled with sly questions directed towards Harry about fame turning it’s ugly face and popularity lost for good. Nick’s twitter mentions go mental after the 24 hours pass and he does not tweet happy birthday to his pal.

Harry is loving it, reads newspaper stories in a dramatic fashion crawled up in Nick’s bed. Nick and Gellz act the perfect Greek choir, oohs and aahs at the right places and, occasionally, proclaim that Harold Styles From The Papers seems to be a silly man of no faith, to whom a looming fate awaits.

It makes Nick rather proud to see Harry laugh it off so easily, knowing the transformation his confidence has gone through the last couple of years. Not to up himself too much, but Nick has a feeling that being around people who are genuinely happy with themselves has helped a lot, and that’s basically all of Nick’s friends. Henry, Jack and Alexa certainly fit the bill. Gillian, who’s currently explaining the difference between an ale and a lager to a sleepy looking Harry, is also part of the believe-in-yourself crew. It’s going on midnight and Nick is standing in his bedroom doorway, chilly after taking Puppy out for the last walk of the day.

Harry looks up and spots him, waves a little. Nick waves back.

“Hiya Harold, how’s your night going?”

“’M cold.” He makes grabby hands at Nick. “Come here.”

Nick huffs but obeys. He picks up the duvet that’s discarded on the floor and sweeps it over Harry, tucking him in properly. “You look like a spring roll, it’s very fetching. If those fangirls could see you now, they’d run away screaming.”

Harry manages to smirk through his yawn. “From my experience they like me plenty whatever I do.”

Nick doesn’t have to stop himself from reacting at the implication, those days are long gone. Now he just feels a tiny twinge in his stomach. It’s fine.

He ruffles Harry’s hair a bit, grabs Gellz by the hand and drags her out of the room with him.

“Heeey.” Nick’s not looking but he still knows the pout is going strong.

“Aww.” Gellz is clearly looking. Nick turns to smile merrily at Harry before shutting the door.

 

“Any particular reason you locked H in the bedroom?”

“There’s a key in the door.” Nick is pouring himself a cup of coffee and if he makes it a bit Irish then well, he’s an adult and totally allowed.

“Grimshaw.” Gillian clings to him like a leech from behind. She’s not very good at serious hugging, always makes it into a joke, laughs it off. He does the same with conversations where he’s expected to talk honestly about his feelings. There’s a reason his job is to give people easy banter and gossip about the world of celebrity, he’s good at deflecting any seriousness that comes his way on or off the airwaves.

Gellz is now tickling his sides and neighing in his ear. She’s one of his top five people in the world, after Beyoncé, A$AP Rocky, Pete Grimshaw and Harry Styles. She’s also one of the selected few who can get him to commit to a conversation and keep it serious.

She waits until they're on the couch, facing each other with their feet intertwined. “What’s going on?”

He shrugs. “The usual.” She doesn’t reply, waits him out. Nick runs a hand through the messy hair at his neck. “It’s just that he’s been staying over a lot, and there’s a long break before the next tour and… it pops up again, I suppose.”

“What about your resolution?”

It sounds silly, but it’s a serious question. After long years of secret wishing, Nick decided on New Year’s to lay it all out in the open and wrote down a list of all the things he wanted with Harry. Him and Gellz stumbled home from a New Year's party around four and settled down on the couch, Nick with a scrap of paper and an old bic, Gillian with a thoughtful face and a glass of wine. He’s hidden the paper now; it’s underneath his bed somewhere, filled with everything he’ll never say out loud. After he’d written everything down, Gellz crawled up next to him and together they crossed out the things that could never happen.

_~~Hold hands in a non-platonic way.~~ _

_~~Have a first kiss together.~~ _

_~~Never have a first kiss with someone else.~~ _

_~~Reintroduce each other as boyfriends to our families.~~ _

_~~Move in.~~ _

_~~Get the Kama Sutra and work our way through it, cover to cover.~~ _

_~~Get our first house.~~ _

_~~Get our last house.~~ _

_~~Get married.~~_ (Gellz had commented that they couldn’t do that either way, not properly. Nick had absently mumbled that by the time Harry’s career would allow for him to take a break long enough for a proper marriage, the laws would have changed. Gillian had snuggled closer at that, handing over her wine for Nick to finish.)

_~~Adopt.~~ _

_~~Grow old and dusty together.  
~~ _

There ended up being a few things left on the list and Nick made it his resolution to fight for those to come true while simultaneously try and forget about the things he has to forget about.

_Throw a big 20 th birthday party for him._

_Throw a bigger one at 25._

_Get a permanent ban for the paps who wait for him outside my flat._

_Never let him go home to an empty house after a night out._

_Start fewer arguments._

_Get used to him sleeping in my bed in between months of being away._

_Make him happy._

 

When he and Gillian had talked long enough for the sun to come back up, Nick had carefully added two things to the list.

_Introduce him to girls who could do all the crossed out things._

_Be okay with it._

 

Gillian’s foot on his calf brings him back. She’s watching him silently.

“Are you ever going to be okay with it?”

“I’m going to date someone and it’s not going to be him.” Nick stands up and takes the last drink from his cup. Puppy’s whining at something in the corridor, but Nick pays her no mind. “I’ll be alright.”

 

The next day, Harry goes up north to see his family for a couple of days. He doesn’t say when he’ll be back but when Cornelia calls Nick to talk about DJ sets (Nick wants as many people as possible lined up in that booth, mostly because he doesn’t want to get stuck there himself) she says Harry’s been round her office, dropping of notes about things they’ve planned to go through over the next two weeks.

When they hang up, Nick has a bad feeling in his stomach but convinces himself it’s just the result of his late breakfast made up of the three cans of Diet Coke. He whistles for Puppy and grabs the lead. Popstar or no popstar, the dog still needs walking.

 

***

 

Nick got up reasonably late – just in time to do his entire morning routine in five minutes flat and then throw himself into the cab – was forced to wait downstairs because he forgot his pass (again) and had to call up (again) and wait for someone to drag their ass down the elevator to let him in ( _again_ ). He’s pretty sure Billy and Andy from security has a bet going on which day he’ll end up late enough to miss the start of the show. Well, miss _more_ of the start, there’s been a few times Finchy has had to put on a record or two before Nick’s managed to get in the studio. Whatever, he’s still never been a Chris Evans kind of late and that should be all that matters.  

After finally arriving to the studio, he was met with the news that the text-machine was broken and it wouldn’t be fixed during their show. Then Fincham had said that they “wouldn’t need it anyway” and that the show “was all planned out”. Nick looked down at his empty sheet of preparation and just went with it. Really, he should have known what was coming.

They’re an hour into the show and so far, Nick has seen nothing of the grand planning Finchy was on about. Every time he’d tried asking about it he was met with smiles and ‘oh, you’ll see’s.

The clock strikes 7.30 and suddenly the studio fill up with familiar faces. Almost all the Radio 1 DJ’s are there, along with quite a few from the 1Xtra crew. Annie and Huw are carrying a banner they pin to the wall and when they step back, Nick is met with his own face. Multiple times. It’s a 10 ft. collage of him, adorned with little hearts and hand drawn birthday-cakes. He actually has to hide under the desk to stop laughing. It’s the most horrible thing ever, his (by now) famous photo with Girls Aloud from his uni years, unattractive sleeping pictures Ian’s taken on various trainjourneys, hung-over ones from Annie’s archive and - in the middle of it, enlarged so no-one can’t miss it – an old picture of him wearing the knee length silver puffa jacket.

“What. Is. That.” It’s worse than when Fifi tried to sell cat food on air or when Finchy fell over; he just cannot get control of himself. He looks over at Matt, who’s completely lost it and keeps pointing at the jacket going “It’s just ugly. It’s so ugly. Nick. _It’s so ugly_.” He looks like he’s about to throw up from laughing so hard and Nick instantly forgets every argument they’ve ever had and promptly crowns Finchy the Jay-Z to Nick’s Beyoncé.

In a twist of events that surprises absolutely no one, Scott is the one to flick on the news intro and then cue up three songs.

 

The show continues with presents and callers requesting birthday themed songs. About halfway through, Nick pauses during a link, a sudden realization hitting him.

“Hang on, it’s February. My birthday’s not for months.”

Annie comes up and gives him a big smacker on the cheek. “Yeah babe, but what kind of surprise would it be if we would just have the party in August?”

Nick nods along with the surprisingly logical statement before he remembers that he’s still broadcasting. “True wisdom from Annie Mac there, what a woman! Would you like a song Annie? She’s nodding, alright, here’s some Drake just for you Maccers.”

Chris Stark is doing some form of conga with Sara Cox and Zane is rapping along the track expertly. Nick looks around and feels, yet again, ridiculously proud over working at the BBC.

 

“It was mental, Haz, everyone was there and Zane made a sick mix with some Kanye and Polly Pocket.” Nick knows it’s unconventional but it’s 2014, it’s acceptable to ignore any form of greeting and just dive into the good stuff.

“Uhm. That’s nice. I don’t really know what you’re talking about though.” Harry’s voice is tinny through the phone but Nick can still pick up a strange streak of cautiousness in it.

“They had a party for me at work today, you know, for being well old and that.”

“You’re not old.”

Yep, he’s definitely snappy too. Nick thinks back to their last conversation but nothing odd springs to mind. Might just be the dangers of going home. Nick’s reverted back to teenage moodiness enough to know that the longer you spend at your parent’s house, the worse it gets.

“Was there something else you wanted to talk about?” He sounds disconnected and cool, nothing like the drooling guy from Nick's bed a few days ago. Nick doesn’t like this Harry.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

The silence stretches on. Nick refuses to sink to Harry’s level, keeps his voice chipper.

“How’s your mum? She alright?”

“Why don’t you just call her yourself?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?”

At that Nick actually has to pull the phone from his ear and take a few deep breaths. He just had a lovely three hours with his friends; he’s not going to let this ruin his day.

“Look if you’re not in the mood for talking right now, we can take it another day.”

“Fine”, Harry says and _actually hangs up on him_. That’s never happened before. Phone fights, yes, stubborn silence stretching over the Atlantic, yes, but disconnecting without saying goodbye? No.

Nick gets pissed off and then he gets worried. Knowing that Anne is probably busy getting the brunt of Harry’s bad temper, he decides to text Gemma.

_Hi, just thought I’d check w/ you, is H okay? Sounded weird on the phone._

The reply comes just a minute later.

_Think he’s fine, just beeing a moody idiot._

Nick breathes out.

_Alright Gems, see you at the party!!!!_

_Alright Grim, see you at the party!!!!_

No matter what anyone says, Gemma’s always been his favourite.

 

***

 

Pixie is on his couch wearing a pink bra and polka-dot shorts, matched with black killer heels.

“You look wicked.”

She tips her head back, gives him a broad smile. “I know.”

Busta is sleeping in the dog bed Puppy never uses. “Where’s my dog?” Nick whistles for her but no Puppy approaches. Busta lifts his head and growls at Nick who immediately steps back. He might be tiny and worship the ground Pixie walks on, but that dog can be proper scary if he doesn’t get his naps.

Pixie shoves a forkful of pasta into her mouth and manages to speak even with her mouth full. Nick picks the best people to befriend, honestly.

“Outside with ‘Arry.”

Nick frowns and looks around but none of the tell-tale signs are there, there’s no clothes on the floor (other than Pixies £300 designer top), no suitcase welling over with knick-knacks found by the side of the road (Nick has a big bowl of rocks in his bookcase, all collected by Harry from countries across the world) and there’s an overall lack of the general chaos that seems to follow Harry around.

“Was he in when you got here?”

Pix shakes her head and swallows her mouthful with some difficulty. “Nope. He got here like five minutes ago.” She pauses to guzzle down some water. “Didn’t want to stay when you weren’t here but Puppy wanted to play, so…”

Nick can feel the thrumming under his temple warning him for a migraine in the making. He can’t really deal with Harry being weird on top of meetings about Sweat the Small Stuff, Cornelia phoning him ten times a day because – oh yeah, Harry’s being weird – _and_ the new Rajar figures being published, causing a frenzy in all the papers. (Luckily they’ve picked up some steam but the everlasting rumours about him losing his job are refusing to die down.) 

Nick decides that the best thing to do is get into bed before he angers the headache gods any more. He fills up a large glass of water, strips down to his boxers and crawls into bed. The curtains are shut and the door is closed, blocking any sound coming from the lounge. Maybe with some luck, he can sleep right through it.

 

He vaguely recalls someone feeling his forehead, making him sit up to drink a small ocean of water and swallow down a pill before guiding him back down. Soft hands carding through his hair calm him enough to drift off again, waking up to an empty room and a pain-free head.

Nick pulls on a sweater and pads out in the lounge where Pixie’s still sat, now munching on nachos Nick’s pretty sure went out of date a month ago.

“Oh, you’re back.”

“What time is it?”

“Nine.”

He’s been asleep for five hours. “Fuck.”

“Yeah”, Pixie nods. “Harry left. Said he didn’t have time to wait for you to wake up.”

 Nick sits down gingerly on the couch. Puppy jumps up and nuzzles his thigh, crawls up in his lap without the usual barking circus. Nick has never loved her more.

“Did you bring me a pill when I was sleeping?”

Pixie's engrossed with zebras running around on the telly, shakes her head. “Nah.”

Nick reaches for the bag of nachos. Fuck it.

 

***

 

There are some stilted phone conversations between him and Harry, coupled with texts that seem strangely professional. The only thing they seem to talk about is the party, petty details being blown out of proportion. After ten minutes on which punch they should have, Nick gives up.

“Just take whatever you want, I don’t care.”

“I know”, Harry mutters.

Nick freezes in the middle of Camden High Street. “What?”

“Whatever, it’s true. I’ll fix the rest of the stuff, don’t worry about it.” It’s the second time he’s hung up on Nick and this whole thing is starting to freak Nick out.

 

***

 

It’s five days ‘til the party.

Four days.

Three.

Harry doesn’t get in touch.

 

***

 

Cornelia calls Nick on Friday morning at precisely one minute past ten.

“We have a new guest for tomorrow and Harry wanted them to have a proper invite, did you keep the leftover ones?”

“Uhm, yeah, they’re somewhere in the flat. I’ll find one for you when I get off work.”

“Brilliant! That’s great.”

Nick puts his feet on the table and ignores Finchy’s muttered “I _just_ cleaned up that desk”.

“You sound happy. Is it cause you’ll get rid of us after tomorrow?”

She laughs. “Oh, no. I’ve just had a good day is all. Easier to work with clients who are not so- I mean, not to say that you have been but-“

“Harry’s been a miserable twat for whatever reason and I can’t tell the difference between fuchsia and lavender.”

“Yes you can.”

“Yeah, alright. Colours are my forte.”

“Sure.”

Fincham is now trying to lift Nick’s feet out of the way. Naturally, Nick makes them as heavy as he possibly can and beams at the aggravated look he receives. Being a menace really does pass the time.

“Anyway, I was just calling about the card.”

“No problem.” He’s about to say goodbye when he remembers something. “Hey, Cornelia, did we ever invite you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“To the party. Bash. Birthday hoopla. You do know you’re invited, right?”

There’s a bit of stunned silence and then she’s back, sounding a little timid. “You know you don’t have to, I’m not expecting to just-“

“Well, I just invited you and you missed the deadline for saying no so sorry, you’re gonna have to show up.” Nick is extraordinarily pleased with himself.

“Okay then. If I don’t have a choice.” Cornelia sounds happy and Nick feels it.

 

When he gets home he realizes he never asked who the last minute guest was. He changes his jeans into sweatpants and thinks that it can wait until tomorrow. Maybe it’ll be a nice surprise.

 

***

 

The morning after, Nick wakes up with a crick in his neck after falling asleep on the couch. He winces standing up and stretches out his back. He grabs his phone to check for last minute freak outs from Cornelia or excuses from people who suddenly can’t make it. He finds none of it, just a message from Aimee saying she’ll bring breakfast.

Ten minutes later she’s there, a hurricane of bright hair and loud talking.

“I said to him that in no way will they play for free, is he fucking mad?” She pauses to dig out a carton of juice from the fridge. Nick’s pretty sure she hid it there the last time she came round. “And so he began to talk some bullshit about the value of promotion no matter what it takes and I said ‘listen babe, I’ve done promo since before you were old enough to get those ugly ass tattoos so don’t try and teach me how to do my fucking job’. Sit down.” It takes a beat for Nick to realize she’s talking to him. He sits down, it’s too early and she’s too keyed up to handle him disobeying.

“It’s like, I’ve been doing this for how many years?”

“A lot of years”, Nick mumbles into his sandwich.

“A _lot_ of years and there’s still these young assholes trying to act big and tough just cause they’ve got a set of balls. Fuckwits.” She huffs out a long breath and shoves half a croissant into her mouth.

Nick looks at her, suddenly bursting with how much he loves her. She looks up at him, rolls her eyes.

“Shut up Grimshaw.” He smiles at her.

“You know you’re better than all of them.”

She sighs and fiddles with her juice glass. Underneath the table, her foot hooks with his.

“I know.”

They finish breakfast in silence.

 

Around lunchtime, Aimee has finally shaken off her bad mood and is back to her usual self.

“No. No. No.” Brief pause. “Have you lost your mind?”

Nick throws the last of the shirts he owns on the bed and himself after it.

“I have nothing to wear.”

Aimee pats her on the back. “It’s cause you’ve got shit taste. Where’s that striped thing? You looked hot in that.”

Nick’s voice is muffled through eons of cotton and polyester. “Harry took it.”

“That blue jacket with the things on the side?”

“Took it.”

“The checkered coat?”

“Took it, haven’t seen it for months.”

“So basically anything that makes you look alright has been stolen?”

Nick nods. He feels like falling asleep right here, on top of the unloved shirts. That could be an album title, he thinks. Maybe he should text it to Theo.

“Call him and tell him to bring some stuff over then, come on.”

“Don’t want to.” Nick stubbornly keeps his head tucked in the clothes. Aimee pulls his hair until he’s forced to look up unless he wants baldness as a birthday present.

“Why don’t you want to talk to Harry?”

Nick shrugs. “He’s being weird.”

“Of course he’s weird, that’s not news.” Aimee quirks an eyebrow and won’t let him move away, a hand firmly placed in his hair.

“Not usual kind of weird, more like… a mean kind. He’s not proper talking to me and I don’t know, just don’t want it to be a big thing.”

“Maybe he needs to get laid. Talk to Daisy, maybe she’d be up for it.” Nick involuntarily winces.  Aimee sits down next to him, strokes his hair. “We’ve talked about this.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to do it now. He can go another day without getting some. If he’s still weird tonight, I’ll smack him. This whole birthday thing was his idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, so if he’s being an idiot, it's probably got nothing to do with you.”

It’s supposed to make Nick feel better, but he can't help but think that if there was something bothering Harry that had nothing to do with Nick, Harry would definitely not have a problem talking to him about it. They’ve been through girls selling stories to the press, paps invading every moment of Harry's life until he got a restraining order, upset people on twitter letting them both know how disgusting their friendship is and never, not once has Harry shut him out.

It’s scaring Nick to death.

 

Aimee goes home to prep for the party and, in her own words, “check so my kept boy won’t look like an idiot tonight”. Nick gets dressed in a mediocre suit and his most dance-friendly boots. He doesn’t feel like partying, mostly he just wants to lock Harry in a room and hug him back to normality. A small part of him would like to whack that stupid teenager (not a teenager anymore, his brain helpfully supplies) for making him a worried wreck of an almost-thirty-year-old, but that part is easy to squash down. Cuddles always take priority.

Arriving at the ordinary-looking venue – Harry and Cornelia decided it best not to put any decoration outside since it would make it blindingly obvious that there was something big going on inside – there’s just a few cars outside. The caterer is there along with the sound tech guy and the surly man who’s in charge of putting up the DJ booth. Nick waves hello to them before walking in and taking a stroll around the main room.

The walls are filled with pictures of not only Harry and Nick, both together and apart, but also of all the people who’ll join them tonight. Before everything went downhill, Harry and Nick spent a night going through their photos, hundreds and hundreds of snaps kept in phones and on laptops. Together, they collected all the faces of the people they love and gave them to Cornelia. They’re tucked up in no particular order, Anne and Robin smiling from a trip to Spain next to Mackenzie sweating in the gym, Gillian dancing on a table top above White Eskimo giving it all on stage.

There’s sound coming through from the kitchen. Nick goes through the doors and is met with Harry’s voice. He’s standing with his back to Nick, talking with Carl the Caterer.

“No, don’t add any coriander. He doesn’t like that. Just cumin is fine. Oh, and you got the email about the dessert right?”

Carl nods. “Yes, no nuts or almonds.”

“Right. Sorry about it being last minute, I forgot Pete’s allergic.” Harry looks around and nods approvingly. “Everything looks great.”

“Thanks H, appreciate it. Oh look, the better half has arrived.” Carl nods at Nick in the doorway.

“Hiya Carl. You alright?” Harry’s back is ramrod straight but Nick walks up behind him for a hug anyway. It’s been weeks and he can’t help himself. Hooking his fingers in Harry’s belt loops, he pulls him close enough to rest his chin on Harry’s shoulder. Harry smells like the perfume Nick got him for Christmas and he’s wearing the striped shirt Aimee was looking for.

“Can I talk to you?” Nick mumbles in his ear. Harry nods shakily.

Nick steers them out through the venue, to the little alley outside. He doesn’t let go of Harry, he can’t, afraid he’ll disappear again. They stand there, Nick staying warm with the heat coming from Harry’s back.

“You excited for tonight?”

“Sure.”

Nick lets go of him, turns him around. Harry’s looking defiant, jaw clenched. “Enough. Alright, you need to stop it now.”

Harry looks away. “I don’t know what you're talking about. I’m not doing anything.”

“What is it? Are you mad cause you had to do a lot of the work? Are you regretting not having a big celebration on your actual birthday instead of this?”

“No. This is fine.” It’s his interview voice, pleasant enough but with an undertone of unattainability. He’s standing seemingly relaxed but the tense line of his shoulders betray him.

Nick stares at him for a moment; tries to find a clue to as to what he’s thinking but Harry’s face stays carefully blank, eyes focused on something just above Nick's shoulder.

Fine.

“You know what? You’ve been acting like a fucking brat for weeks and I don’t know what to do. You’re not talking to me, whenever I call you’re acting like you can’t wait to hang up and, oh yeah, you did hang up right in the middle of a fucking conversation.” Harry makes a move but Nick stops him. “ _Twice_.”

Harry’s fidgeting but Nick has to get the rest of it out before it eats him up completely. “You’ve never done that before. I don’t know what I’ve done Harry, I really don’t, but obviously it’s something huge since you can’t even look at me.” Nick runs a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get through tonight and then you’re off on tour again. That’s eight months where you won’t have to see me.”

Harry looks up at that but Nick turns away, goes back inside. He sure as hell won’t break down now. Maybe tomorrow or later tonight, after this spectacle is over but not right now.

People start arriving in two hours.

He picks up his phone, flicks through his contacts with shaky fingers. Gillian picks up after the first signal. “I need you to come here now. Just, you can change in the bathroom or something.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t sound surprised, which makes Nick wonder just how obvious he’s been.

“I just… I need you to be here.”

“Grimmy, I’m getting into my car. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Alright?”

Harry’s slamming the door shut, breezes past Nick without a look.

Nick looks down at his shoes. “Okay.”

 

***

 

Cornelia’s got a beautiful dress on, looking relaxed in the middle of a mingling crowd made up of family and friends. Nick sneaks up on her, throws an arm around her shoulder.

“You’re like a proud mum, aren’t you?”

She smiles at him, winds her arm around his waist. “It’s like watching your baby walk for the first time.”

Nick laughs.

“Oh, did you bring that extra invitation?”

“Shit, I forgot.” Nick shields his face with his hands, peaks through his fingers. “Please don’t hate me.”

Cornelia just pats his hip. “No worries, it was mostly Harry who was pushing for it. There he is, our late edition.”

Nick follows her pointed finger to a smart-looking guy standing over at the bar. He’s dressed to the tens in a black suit, hair immaculately tousled.

“Who’s he?” While Nick watches, Harry walks up to the stranger and shakes his hand.

“A friend of Harry’s, isn’t he?” Cornelia shrugs, focusing mostly on the canapés being clumsily served around the room.

No, Nick thinks. Harry never shakes hands with his friends. He’s always been a hugger.

“Oh, come on.” Cornelia huffs and chases after the waiter. Nick lets her go, too distracted by the scene in front of him to care.

Harry is gesturing towards him and the mysterious suit guy nods. They walk over toward him, Suit Guy smiling and Harry donning his polite face.

“Nick!” There’s no trace of grudge in Harry’s voice. He’s fully in popstar mode now. Nick straightens his back and takes on the challenge.

“Hello Harry and Stranger Suit Guy.”

Suit guy laughs and holds out his hand.

“Tom Thompson.”

Nick shakes his hand. “Really?”

Tom smiles. “Really.”

Harry clasps a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Tom is a mate from Holmes.”

“Oh. I didn’t know anyone except for Jonny and Ellis was coming.” Nick keeps his voice jovial, his eyes fixed on Tom.

“I was told it’d be a good thing if I invited more people from back home.” Harry’s voice is razor sharp. Tom’s looking between the two of them, smile fading slowly.

Nick forces his polite smile to stay in place. “I was just surprised we haven’t met before, that’s all.”

Harry clenches his jaw briefly before turning back to Tom.

“Unlike me, Nick likes to mix all his friends. I have to go say hello to people but maybe Nick could introduce you around? He likes having someone on his arm.” And with that, Harry is gone.

Nick bites his lip before turning back to Tom. He gives an apologetic face and gestures towards the bar. “Sorry about him. D’you want another drink?”

“Please.” Tom smiles and lets Nick lead the way.

 

After a passionate duet with Finchy to _Crazy in love_ and some sort of samba with Poppy - ending in an almost fall headfirst into the dessert table - Nick goes outside for a quick smoke.

Alexa is there, slow dancing with someone. Actually, it looks more like a moving hug, her arms secured around her partners back, stroking up and down. It looks intimate out in the cold, their bodies completely intertwined.

When she looks up and spots Nick, she shakes her head and ushers him back in. Nick stays where he is, smirking at her. She’s done plenty worse in front of him for this to be embarrassing and he really is too hot to go inside without a breather.

Alexa makes a face and mumbles something in the ear of the guy plastered against her. Nick hears a sigh and the guy raises his head.

It’s Harry.

Nick throws the unlit cigarette on the ground, turns around and wrenches the door open. Suddenly, he doesn't feel like watching anymore.

 

He heads straight to the bar, aiming to make himself drunk enough not to keep tabs on Harry for the rest of the night, wasted enough not to care who goes home with who. There’s bile rising in the back of his throat when he tries to fight his way through the crowd.

“Grimmy!” It’s Rita, standing on top of a table and waving wildly. She gestures to a group of guys to help her down and a few seconds later, she’s thrown herself at him. He likes Rita but right now, he likes vodka more.

He untangles her. “Do you want to share some shots with me?”

“I’ll get my own, babes. It’s your birthday!” She kisses both his cheeks and waves down the bartender.

It’ll be alright.

 

***

 

Nick’s standing with Gillian and Henry, listening to them doing their own version of _Fashion Police_ when someone taps him on the shoulder.

It’s Harry, looking surprisingly sober. “Did you get the invitation?”

Nick stares at him. “Sorry?”

Gillian puts an arm around his waist. Harry follows the movement with pinched eyebrows. “Tom’s invitation. Have you got it?”

“No, I told Cornelia earlier that-“

“For _fuck’s_ sake, that’s the one thing you were supposed to do.” Harry’s looking proper pissed now. “What, you just forgot?”

“What’s the big deal, he can get it tomorrow,” Gellz says, sounding way calmer than Nick could manage at the moment.

“Can you just stay out of it? This has nothing to do with you, _Gillian_ ,” Harry spits. He turns back to Nick. “You know what? Just for once it would be really nice if you could speak for yourself instead of hiding behind your fucking friends.”

“What-“Nick doesn’t know what else to say but he’s cut off.

“I’ll go get the card since it’s _obviously_ too much work for you. Enjoy the party.” 

Harry weaves through the crowd, doesn’t stop when people shout his name, doesn’t look back. Nick feels nauseous and he furiously tries to blink back the tears building up in his eyes. Henry and Gellz herd him into the brightly lit kitchen, touching his arms, his back, his hair.

“You’re alright. You’re gonna be alright.” Gillian murmurs into his ear. She’s hugging him fiercely and, without hesitation, Henry crowds up behind, sandwiching Nick in between them. Nick can’t hold it back anymore and just lets go. There’s nothing else left to do.

 

***

 

People start dropping off around one, the families being the first ones to leave. Nick’s got Pete and Eileen a hotel room not too far away, knowing from experience that his own house will be full of people staying over. Pete is merry from endless pints of beer and Eileen rolls her eyes at him so much Nick fears they’ll just pop right out of their sockets.

“Bloody good party, son. Never thought I’d have so much fun in blooming London.” Pete squeezes him properly, refusing to let go until Eileen thumps him in the head.

“Good night darling, it was lovely to meet your friends. I really liked that small one that raps.” Eileen gives him a kiss and a pat on the cheek.

Nick may be going through an emotional roller-coaster but this, at least, is familiar territory. “His name is Tinie Tempah mum.”

She tuts at him. “That’s not a proper name, though, is it?”

He can’t help but smile at her. She grins back. “We’re off to that posh hotel of ours. I’ll give you a call tomorrow when I’ve dragged your father home.”

 

Anne and Robin drops off next, Gemma going with them. Strangely enough, they’re not acting any differently than usual, hugging Nick and telling him to drink plenty of water before bed.

Harry’s still not back. Nick waves and goes back inside.

 

By three, there’s only a small group of guests left, lounging in the window sills and drinking the last bottles of champagne.

Nick is sitting in Jack’s lap, listening to him and Pixie having a discussion on different dog breeds. Alexa sits down on the chair opposite, looking slightly apprehensive. It doesn’t go with her usual loud persona and Nick doesn’t like it.

“Listen Nick, about before…”

“Don’t worry about it.” He tries to sound casual but judging by the look Pixie gives him, he’s not succeeding.

“No, but it’s not what you made it out to be. You need to talk to him.”

Nick shrugs. “I’ve tried.”

“Try again.”

Nick keeps quiet, doesn’t want to meet her eyes.

She sighs and stands up. “I’m gonna go, I’ve got an early plane tomorrow.” She bends down to kiss him on the cheek. “Love you.”

And Nick believes her then, that the thing with Harry is something else than what he thought. They’ve said _I love you_ to each other before, but never seriously, never using the actual words.

“Love you too”, he says and then she’s gone.

 

When the clock strikes four, Nick gives up. Harry’s not coming back and even if he is, no one is up for staying around much longer. Since Ian is the least drunk (a discovery that surprises absolutely no one) he’s appointed head of the checking lamps and locking up business. While he’s taking a lap around the building, looking for open back-doors and windows, Nick enjoys the last smoke for the evening.

When he pictured how this night would end up, back in the early days of their planning, this was not something that came to mind. This thing hanging in the air between him and Harry has obviously affected the rest of their friends. They’re notorious for staying out til early morning, getting breakfast before going home to catch a few hours sleep, but tonight is different. No one is talking about an after party, no one is fighting to keep them going.

It turns out that everyone is going back to their own beds, meaning Nick is left going home alone to an empty flat. Gellz and Collette both offer to stay over but Gillian has a work thing in the morning and Collette has a bad cold that supposedly makes her snoring even worse than normal.

Maybe it’d do him good to be by himself.

 

It’s almost an hour before he gets home, feeling almost sober by the time he’s unlocking the door. Puppy doesn’t come to greet him but then again, it’s five in the morning and she’s too used to their nocturnal life by now to wake up in a panic every time a late night visitor arrives.

The light in the bedroom is on. Nick frowns; he could have sworn he turned it off before he left. Opening the door, he sees Puppy nervously waggling her tail and nudging her nose against a pair of legs. When he takes a step into the room, Puppy runs over to him, whining and begging to get picked up. Nick ignores her for the first time ever, too taken aback by the sight of Harry sitting on his bedroom floor.

He’s been crying, that much is obvious, eyes red-rimmed. He’s sitting cross-legged, a small pile of invitation cards on his left. The smiling faces seem to mock Nick when he moves them aside. Harry looks up.

“What is this?” There’s something unreadable in his eyes, something Nick immediately wants to take away, take on himself so that it’ll leave Harry alone.

Harry’s clutching a paper in his right hand and he raises it slightly. “What the fuck is this?” He’s got the same manic look on his face as he did back when the gift bags needed fixing but Nick doesn’t think a warm jumper will do the trick now.

Harry keeps waving the piece of paper around and when he finally holds it still in front of Nick’s face, Nick realizes what it is and his whole body freezes.

Nick’s eyes shoot up to meet Harry’s and now he knows that he can’t take the pain away from them, can’t make Harry feel better because-

“You’ve crossed it out? Just like that, I don’t get a say?”

-because Nick is the one causing it. Harry’s talking again and Nick tries to focus on his voice and not on the bottomless pit that just swallowed his heart.

“It’s like… I don’t pick where we go on tour, or what events to go to or which songs to sing but _this_? I can’t decide about _this_?” Harry’s voice breaks and he looks down, tries to collect himself.

The room is completely silent.

Harry sucks in a breath, folds the paper carefully with shaking hands and stands up. Nick has so many things to say but there’s a big lump in his throat stopping him.

“You didn’t even ask me.” And he sounds _broken_ , worse than Nick has ever heard him before.  He shoves the paper into Nick’s hand and then he’s walking away.

Puppy runs after him, Nick can hear her paws against the floor and then the slight pause which means she’s jumped on the couch.

 

Nick looks down at the list. One line stands out.

_Make him happy._

It’s not even been three months and already he’s fucked it up.

 

Nick sits down on the bed, hands folding and refolding the list. He can hear Puppy's whines and Harry’s uneven breaths. Nick feels like he’s going to be sick.

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there, head too heavy for his shoulders. He stands up despite his body screaming for a lie-down. The lounge is quiet.

Harry is sleeping curled up on the couch, legs drawn up to his chest. He looks small and cold, still dressed in his party clothes. Puppy’s resting in the nook of his knees, whimpering slightly when she sees Nick.

Nick tiptoes up to them, sits down on the floor in front of the couch. He doesn’t dare to touch Harry but he rubs Puppy’s ears to calm her down. He stays there until the sun comes up, until he falls asleep, head resting next to Harry’s arm on the couch.

 

***

 

When Nick wakes up, he’s on the floor covered with a blanket. Harry is still there, clutching a cup of tea. He’s not changed, tight black jeans and striped shirt still hanging off his too skinny frame. Nick didn’t notice before, but Harry must have lost weight during the last couple of weeks. His cheeks are a little too hollow, his legs barely there at all.

“I heard you talk to Gillian.”

Nick meets his eyes and makes the connection. He flushes slightly. “You weren’t supposed to.”

Harry nods, tracing a finger around the rim of the cup. “I know.” He clears his throat. “I invited Tom so he could be your date.”

Nick stares at him.

“He’s a nice guy, I mean, nice enough. Thought that maybe it’d be less… whatever if I introduced you.” He’s a little too calm, Nick thinks. Like he’s thought out a speech that will do absolutely nothing to solve things between them but will be enough to move on, maybe as friends, maybe as nothing at all. The best thing to do is probably to throw Harry off his already thought-out track.

“I thought you and Alexa hooked up last night.”

It works. Harry’s head shoots up. “What?”

Nick shrugs. “Outside, when you were dancing.”

“And you just went inside? You didn’t even care?” Harry sounds hurt and Nick hates it but this isn’t fair.

“ _You_ introduced me to some bloke. What the fuck was that about?”

“ _You wanted to date someone so that I would back off_!” Harry shouts, slamming down the tea-cup onto the table. Puppy jumps down from the couch and runs off to hide in the bedroom. “You just said I wasn’t supposed to hear that but I _did_ and then… and then I saw your fucking list yesterday and I couldn’t go back to that stupid party, I just couldn’t.”

He folds in on himself, hugging his knees tightly to his body. Nick is feeling something akin to relief but pushes it away. It’s too early for that.

“Did you see the things at the bottom of the list?”

Harry nods. Nick fiddles with the hem of his shirt, hands restless.

“I walked inside cause I thought maybe Alexa could be that person.”

“Did you want her to be?” Harry’s eyes are like laser beams, they tear through any defence Nick tries to set up. He gives up on doing anything other than cutting himself open completely. Maybe, when this is all over, he’ll feel better. Maybe he’ll stop feeling like he’s constantly about to fall apart, like the smallest thing could knock his heart right out of his chest.

“No.” He has to stop to clear his throat. “I wanted me to be that person.”

He’s concentrating on the patterned cushion in front of him, outlines the details with a fingertip, counting the seconds in his head.

A hand reaches out to touch his cheek, shakily trace his jaw.

“Will you sit with me?”

Nick nods and clumsily makes his way onto the sofa. Harry’s turned around so that they’re facing each other. He’s crying again, tears falling down his face, catching on his eyelashes.

He’s the most beautiful thing Nick’s ever dreamed of keeping.

“You have to mean it. Okay? I want you to be here. I _need_ you to be here.”

There’s a pair of hands clutching his shirt, rustling him slightly. Nick carefully catches Harry’s cheeks in his hands. He leans forward to kiss the spot just under his eye. Harry’s face crumples a little.

“When have I not been?”

Harry makes a small sound, pulls Nick in. The kiss is wet with tears but still so much better than any other Nick’s had in the past three years. It’s one thing to long for something; it’s quite different to actually have it, feel it soar through your body.

His mind has turned into a one way street. The only thing that matters now is Harry, keeping him close and happy and safe.

Harry pulls away, buries his face in Nick’s neck. “I was _so angry_ with you.”

Nick hitches him closer, arranges him to sit across his lap. Harry’s arms got a vice grip around his neck, presses closer until there’s no part of them that’s not touching. Sobs are fighting their way out of Harry’s throat, his body shaking with it.

“It’s okay, love.” Nick murmurs it over and over again, follows it with kisses across his cheeks, collarbone, up in his hair. He spends forever stroking Harry’s hair, keeping him close.

Eventually, Harry calms down enough to lift his head and meet Nick’s eyes. He keeps close, restless fingers flitting over Nick’s shirt collar, his jaw. He’s sniffling slightly, his voice raspy when he speaks up.

“I didn’t mean to be mean.”

Nick nods. “I know.”

“I just… I got sad and I couldn’t talk to you about it. I thought you were tired of me always being around.” He sniffles, places a kiss on the corner of Nick’s mouth. “But you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t.” Nick tugs Harry’s hair a little. “I want you around.”

Harry smiles, dimples popping out. “I’m never going to leave now.”

Nick laughs a little, pulls him in for another kiss. “Except for a world tour.” Harry’s eyes cloud over slightly, his brow furrows. Nick smooths it out with his finger. “It’s okay. We’ve done it before.”

Harry traces Nick’s bottom lip with his thumb. “I wanna make out now.” Nick huffs out a laugh, rolls his eyes.

“I think I can manage that.”

“Good”, Harry mutters, diving in.

 

They end up in the bedroom a couple of hours later, after they’ve kissed so much Nick thinks his lips are going to fall off. Harry is demanding, licking into his mouth and shoving warm hands under Nick’s shirt.

Nick stops him just before they’re about to fall on the bed, runs a hand through Harry’s curls. Harry unbuttons the rest of Nick’s shirt, pushes it off his shoulders. He crowds closer, to close for Nick to see anything except green eyes flecked with yellow.

“Hello”, Harry whispers.

“Hi”, Nick whispers back.

“What do you want?” Harry asks, thumbing Nick’s hipbone. He looks nervous now, younger than his big persona.

Nick reaches down and entwines their fingers.

“Whatever you want.”

Harry smiles a little. He pushes Nick back to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t laugh at me.” He gingerly gets down on his knees, hands curling on Nick’s thighs.

Nick can’t do anything but shake his head. Harry licks his lips, moves his hands to the waistband of Nick’s boxers. His eyes dart up, asking for permission. Nick lifts his hips a bit. Harry fumbles when he tries to slide the pants down.

“Aren’t you supposed to be all smooth and stuff? The papers call you a lothario, Styles, what’s happened?” Nick smirks down at Harry.

The distraction seems to work; Harry laughs and relaxes enough to get Nick naked. He’s already hard, has been since Harry attacked him with his mouth back in the lounge. Harry leans in to run his lips along Nick’s inner thigh, peppering the skin with butterfly kisses.

Nick breathes out shakily, leans back on his hands. Harry makes a noise of protest.

“What?”

“Want you to… come ‘ere.” Harry grabs Nick’s hand and tangles it in his hair.

Nick is very close to passing out and so far, no one has even touched his dick yet. He closes his eyes, but they fly open again when he feels warm breath hit the tip of his cock. Harry’s looking up at him through his messy fringe.

“Is this okay? I looked some stuff up.” Harry’s cheeks go slightly pink and Nick finds his balance again.

“Have you been watching porn, Harold?”

Harry nods quickly and bites Nick’s leg.

“Did you like it?” Nick strokes a finger along Harry’s collarbone. “Did you get off on it?”

Harry’s breath slightly hitches and oh, this is interesting. Nick strokes through the hair at Harry’s neck, presses at his pulse point. It’s going crazy underneath his fingers.

“Was it during the tour, touching yourself in your bunk? Did you have to keep quiet so the lads wouldn’t hear you?” He keeps his voice low, soothing.

Harry squirms, face pressed against Nick’s thigh. Nick tugs Harry’s head up and is met by wide eyes, pupils blown.

“Such a pretty boy, aren’t you?”

“Nick”, he whines.

“What do you want darling? Hmm?”

“Please. Just…” Harry’s desperate now, rutting against Nick’s leg.

Nick takes pity on him. “Come on then, love. Go on.”

Harry leans in blindly, refusing to break eye-contact. He opens enough to take the tip in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head.

“Use your hands, sweetheart.” Immediately a hand grasps the base of his cock, keeps it steady. Harry’s looking determined now, slowly starting to bob his head. He scoots in even closer, gets his other hand on Nick’s hip, grasping tightly.

Nick cards through Harry’s hair, tugs it slightly. Harry moans, sinks down deeper until he gags slightly. Nick pulls him off, ignores the whine rising from Harry’s throat. “Don’t do that. Need you to save your voice, popstar.”

He releases his hair slightly and Harry goes back down, making his mouth meet his fist. He works Nick up until the brink of coming and then pulls off.

“Want you to…” He’s panting, licking his lips helplessly. “Come on.”

“Alright,” Nick chokes out. Harry’s hand is working him in long pulls and he can’t hold back any longer, coming all over Harry’s lips and cheeks.

Harry keeps stroking him until Nick swats his hand away.

“Sorry,” Harry says meekly.  

Nick huffs out a laugh, tugging Harry up in his lap. He’s pliant, tilting his head up for a kiss. Nick obliges him, not even caring about the mess. Harry pulls away, pokes his tongue out to catch some of the come lingering on his cheeks.

“’S nice.”

This boy will be the end of him. Nick grabs his discarded shirt from the floor and gently wipes Harry’s face clean.

“Heey.” Harry’s pouting. “I wanted to have more.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” Nick slides his hand down Harry’s body, makes sure to tweak a nipple along the way, earning a gasp, until he reaches a hipbone and spreads his fingers.

“Nick.” Harry’s voice is ashamed and when Nick looks up, Harry hangs his head and hides behind his fringe.

Nick sweeps the hair from Harry’s eyes. “Did you come already?”

Harry nods, resting his forehead against Nick’s neck. His hand are grasping Nick's sides, trembling slightly.

 

The few times Nick’s allowed himself to think about being with Harry, in moments clouded with alcohol and an empty flat, this is what he imagined. Harry’s already submissive to a fault, always looking to please others, so it’s no surprise that bleeds over into sex. Nick briefly thinks of Harry’s previous lovers, did they get to see him like this? Did they take care of him?

It’s no matter, Nick’s got him now and he’s never letting go.

 

He gathers up his boy and carries him out to the bathroom. After filling up the tub with steaming water, he manhandles Harry to sit down in front of him. Some of the colour is back in his face, but Harry’s eyes are still slightly glazed over.

Nick carefully washes Harry’s hair, takes his time running his fingers through the knots. Harry’s almost deadweight against him, body completely lax. By the time Nick is washing his chest, Harry’s humming sleepily.

“So, Mr Grimshaw”, he says, yawning, “is this where you take all your conquests?”

“No, the en-suite is only for VIPs.”

Harry nods sagely. “Very Important Penises. I feel honoured.”

Nick snorts into the wet shoulder in front of him. “That was awful.”

Harry reaches back to pat Nick on the head. “Keep washing me, peasant. I'm still dirty.”

“You’ll always be filthy, Styles.” Nick sucks a mark into Harry’s neck, slowly slides a hand down his torso.

 

When they get out of the bath, their hands are like prunes and the water ice cold.

 

***

 

It’s late when they wake up, tangled together on Nick’s side of the bed. Nick orders Chinese and forces Harry to go pay for it. When Harry struts out in the hallway with nothing on but a sock, it leads to a brief wrestling match in front of the door while the delivery guy impatiently waits outside. Nick manages to hold off Harry long enough to keep him out of sight while handing over the money.

Harry retaliates by sneaking a hand down the back of Nick’s boxers when he’s trying to balance the food and his wallet in one hand, closing the door with the other. Nick ends up kicking the door shut and quickly unload his hands on the hallway table. If he then slams Harry up against the wall and ruts against him until another bath is needed, well, it’s nobody’s business but theirs.

 

Harry’s pelting Nick with cold shrimp from across the bed.

“You’re a child.”

“How dare you? I’m fifty years old.” Harry smiles broadly, his mouth full of fried rice. Nick pokes his dimple with a chop stick.

“Heey.” Harry frowns at him. It’s kind of like seeing an angry bunny. Nick mostly wants to pet him.

Nick finishes his chicken and reaches over to steal some of Harry’s food. When he’s met with no resistance he looks up. Harry is studying him with an imploring look. Nick smells danger.

“What?”

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing.” He puts down his food on the table and fiddles with the blanket. Nick puts a hand on his thigh, making him look up.

“Come on, spit it out.”

“I just… why didn’t you tell me?”

Nick’s hackles immediately come up. “What, I was just supposed to blurt it out over brekkie or summat?”

“Don’t get defensive.”

“I’m not!”

“You are. You went all northern.”

Nick huffs. “I’m always northern.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I used to think in the beginning that you-- But I didn’t want to push cause I know you get tired of people easily.”

“Not my friends.”

Harry’s smile turns a little sad. “No. Not your friends.”

Nick can’t handle the implication. His brain is shouting so loudly at him, telling him what an idiot he’s been, that Nick wouldn’t be surprised if the whole neighbourhood woke up. “Are you saying that you didn’t, you know, because you thought I would… you know.”

“Yes.”

Nick punches him in the shoulder. “Answer properly.”

“Did I not tell you about me liking you quite a lot and wanting to touch your cock and stuff because I was afraid you’d say ‘oh splendid idea, young Harold, let’s get jiggy’ and then ignore me after about a week cause you get over people once you get under them? Yes.”

Nick’s brain is erratic and he is notorious for his short attention span but he has never, not once, lost his interest in anything regarding Harry.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Harry snorts, shakes his head. “I’ve seen you. I’ve even helped you hide from one of your models.”

“He wasn’t a model, you and Hens are proper obsessed with that, aren’t you? And yeah, I may have done that before but, you know. They weren’t you.”

Sometimes Harry tries to play it cool, to hide how disgustingly happy he is and it makes him pull a face that kind of makes him look like a douche. Nick’s never told him, cause he likes to let Harry keep his imaginary façade of mysteriousness. The douche-face is fully in place now, but Harry hasn’t quite managed to control his dimples.

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

Nick tackles him back into the mattress.

 

***

 

It’s been two days and they’ve not yet left the house. Nick had already scheduled a couple of days off at the urges of Big Boss Ben Cooper, who noticed that Nick hadn’t used up nearly enough of his paid vacation. Nick had imagined spending them lounging around the house, maybe listen to some of the new records piling up on his desk, drown himself in wine and bad soaps. The reality of it turned out so much better.

Harry is lying on top of Nick, watching a rerun of the Simpsons. His hair is mussed and his mouth slightly open, eyes focused on the telly screen.

There’s something that’s still bothering Nick and he’s currently trying to figure out a smooth way to bring it up. He clears his throat, nudging Harry in the side.

“Hey, so you’re into dick.”

Okay, so maybe he’s not exactly subtle.

“Uhm… yeah?” Harry’s peering down to him now and Nick doesn’t know where to go with it so naturally, he panics.

“Just checking. Whatever.”

He turns toward the telly, trying to look engrossed in the episode. A half-naked Harry Styles is currently rearranging his limbs to lay with his chin resting on Nick’s chest and one hand stroking through Nick’s hair, so he can’t really be blamed if he doesn’t succeed.

“Something you wanted to talk about, Nicholas?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

Harry keeps smiling down at him.

“I’m trying to watch the telly, love. Be quiet.”

Harry’s clearly not going to give it up. Nick fidgets slightly which is a hard thing to do when you have a boy plastered against your entire body.

“It just came as a bit of a surprise, is all.”

“Why?”

Nick raises his eyebrows. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe cause you always talk about boobs and picking up girls in bars? That ring a bell?”

Harry looks incredulously at him. “That’s just banter. It’s like you claiming to date Finchy, or making out with Rita.”    

“No it’s not, it’s different.”

“How is that not the same?”

“Because my ones are obviously not true!”

Harry quirks his eyebrows. “You didn’t make out with Rita?”

Shit.

“Okay, that part’s true, but I’m not dating Finchy.”

“Well there goes my lifelong dream. You'd be very pretty together.”

Nick decides to steer the conversation back on topic. “I just wondered if this was the first time you’d, you know, fancied a bloke or if it’s something new.”

Harry’s tracing patterns into Nick’s chest hair, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s been you for years and I can’t really remember before that.”

Nick leans up to fit his mouth against Harry’s. He keeps the kiss soft, innocent. It feels like they’ve not really taken a step back since Saturday night after tumbling into this thing headfirst and Nick feels like he need this, a reassurance that they’re still them. Judging by the way Harry sneaks his arms around Nick’s back and nuzzles into his neck, he feels the same way.

 

***

 

“What was the big deal with Tom’s invitation anyway?”

Harry shrugs. “I didn’t want him to feel left out.”

“Did you tell him he was supposed to be my date?”

“Nah. I thought about it but then I felt this urge to punch him in the face so I thought, better not.”

Nick grins at him. “I knew you hated him, you wouldn’t even hug him at the party.”

“Hate is a very strong word. I just really don’t, I mean, he’s nice and all but then he was in this suit and he was looking at you and just… no.” Harry goes a little flustered and busies himself with the kettle.

Nick steps in behind him, places a kiss behind his ear. “Don’t worry, darling. I don’t go for boys in suits. I go for the ones wearing my clothes.”

The dimple reappears. “Good.”

 

***

 

It’s two AM and Puppy is head-butting the bedroom door. Nick groans and rolls over, attempting to fall back asleep. He gets a sharp poke in the ribs.

“The dog wants to come inside.”

“Well, then let her in.”

“ _You_ let her in.” Harry squirms around until he’s on top of Nick, sprawled over his back. “Come on Nick, get the door.”

“I can’t, there’s a popstar on my back.”

Harry grumbles while rolling off the bed and opens the door. Puppy flies inside, jumps on the bed to lick Nick all over the face.

Harry climbs back on the bed and scoops up Puppy.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Watching over me the other night when Nick was being a meanie.”

“Hey, I wasn’t-“

“But then he came back, didn’t he, yes he did and then there was a lot of groping going on, yes there was.”

“It’s rather disconcerting how you’re reporting about our shagging to a Jack Russell.”

Harry kisses Puppy between the eyes and leans down to do the same to Nick. “You like it.”

Nick picks up the blanket from where they’ve been kicked down at the foot of the bed. He throws it over all three of them and nestles in. Puppy ends up in the crook of Nick’s knees, Harry nestled into Nick’s chest.

“I don’t think there was enough groping, to be honest.”  

Harry snorts, pulls Nick’s arm tighter around him. 

“Shut up and go to sleep, pervert.”

Nick places a kiss on Harry’s neck and settles in for the night.

 

***

 

Two months after the party, when Harry’s gone off to conquer a world that already adores him, Nick gets an email. He clicks on the attached file and stares at it for ten minutes straight. Just when he thinks his jaw is going to dislocate itself from the strain of his manic smile, his phone vibrates with an incoming call.

It’s Harry, because of course it is.

“Did you see it?”

“I’m looking at it now,” Nick replies, putting his feet up on the table. “Your Photoshop skills are awful.”

“Heey. I made that when I was seventeen.”

“You don’t say.”

It’s a bright pink card, adorned with red letters spelling out _WE’RE OLD_ and underneath, in purple, _(not really)_. On the inside is a dozen pictures of them together, Harry with his old, floppy fringe and Nick with glasses and a slightly bewildered smile. He recognises that look in his eyes from the early days, filled with happiness and so much affection Nick feels a little embarrassed. Was it always that obvious? But then again, Harry’s the one who made a joint birthday card after they’d known each other less than a year, so maybe Nick was never really alone in the land of the pining.

When he studies the card closer, Nick realizes that Harry used probably every single photograph of them together that existed by that point. It even looks like…

“Did you steal bloody pap shots to make this card?”

“It’s not really stealing if I’m on them. It’s like, I can borrow a shirt with my face on it, cause it’s me. On the shirt.”

“Could you steal a hoodie with Zayn Malik’s face on for me, please?”

“Well, I could but I don’t know if that would be the same thing? I mean, I was at the shoot when he took those pictures and we’re in the same band so maybe it’d be alright? Zayn’s face is almost like my face really, when you think about it.” Harry tone suggests that he’s taking the question into serious consideration, bless his heart.

“Alright, you have a think about that, love.” Nick clears his throat, brushes some non-existent lint of his jeans. “I made a new list, by the way.”

Harry’s voice is carefully casual. “Did you?”

Nick nods proudly. There’s a beat of silence before Harry breaks it, sounding amused now.

“You do know that I can’t actually see you, right?”

Right.

“I think I know how to operate a telephone, Styles. What do you think; I’m doing a panto over here?”

”Yes.”

Nick huffs indignantly, promptly forgetting about the lint brushing and head-nodding. “Nonsense, like I’m some sort of-“

“What’s on your list then?”

Nick traces the tear over his knee with the tip of his finger. “You.”

“Really?” Nick has absolutely no doubts that Harry is making the douche face right now.

“Yep. Even taped a nude of you on the paper so I wouldn’t forget what your hot bod looks like.”

Harry laughs. “Good. Put it on my pillow, it’ll be like I never left.”

“You’ll be back soon,” Nick says.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out. “Soon.”

Nick hums, scrolls up and down to examine the card further. _28_ and _18_ with the first number struck out, several arrows pointing to the eights with the words _mental age_ written over and over again.  The thought of seventeen-year-old Harry putting thought and care into this stupid card only to have his plans squashed by Nick makes his heart hurt a little, made worse when Harry’s out of touching distance.

Nick thinks back on all the planning their 50th took, the fights and disagreements leading up to a disappointing night. He should probably send Cornelia some flowers for putting up with them, maybe some wine. Everyone likes wine.

“Our birthday party was kind of shit.”

Harry snorts. “It’s okay. We turn seventy in ten years, we’ll smash it then.”

Nick smiles. “Alright popstar. It’s a deal.”

 

 


End file.
